


feet on the ground, eyes on the sky

by chillpills



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Air Force, Alternate Universe - America, M/M, not very accurate.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillpills/pseuds/chillpills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1947, twenty-two year old Liam Payne becomes the fastest pilot on earth by being the first man to officially travel faster than the speed of sound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lol SO. this is the first part of what i had planned as a big massive epic fic following Liam as he and some other pilots eventually become the first american astronauts in space. why am i obsessed with space? why did i want to make them american?? I DON'T KNOW. i haven't finished it yet and i'm sort of stuck where i am - so here's this part, in any case. if i ever finish it it will be posted!!! eventually. someday. i don't really know.
> 
> harry's only not in it because he comes in later in the story, so??? sorry about that, harry. i still love you.
> 
> I have nothing to do with 1D, the Air Force, astronauts, etc. if you're associated with one of those, you should probably turn around.

**Edwards Air Force Base, Near Lancaster, California, October 1947.**

Liam likes going _fast_. When he was a kid, he ran sprints, always trying to be the fastest at his school. He loves the feeling of wind on his face when he’s driving his red convertible Volkswagen, and he likes going dancing and swinging around the dance floor. When he and his family went to Coney Island, he went on the Cyclone five times. He likes the rush of adrenaline and the way his heart drops and then speeds up as he flies, how he sees the ground below him like a lazy river, and never wants to come down. So even though he never really quite planned for it (no one plans for war, after all), he doesn’t really think it’s such a surprise that he ended up testing experimental planes out at Edwards Air Force Base, even if it is too hot, and dry, and dusty - he gets to fly the fastest planes in the world as his job, and who would say no to that? Not Liam.

Liam didn't think he was really cut out for anything else, anyway. He was no good at school, and he thought for a long time that he would go work in the factory with his dad once he graduated. It had really just been the war posters and newsreels at the movies that got him to the Air Force recruiting office in the summer of ‘43. 

His mother cried when he left. She also cried when he cut off all his curly hair, but then, she cries at almost everything. The point is, Liam flies planes, and he's happier than a clam.

He’s lined up for the newest plane, the Bell X-1, next week - they say this one will break the sound barrier, and that Liam’s the one to pilot it there. He’ll officially be the fastest pilot on earth if he can fly it. He’s almost giddy with excitement.

“Payne!” he hears from over his shoulder as he’s walking across the open side of the hangar one day. He turns to see the general striding up to him with a glint in his eye that looks dangerous.

"Sir," Liam says.

"Ready to fly the Bell?" General Richards asks, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly way and walking with him. “ ‘S gonna be quite a feat if you can.” His voice is rough and Southern in a nice, friendly way, but also in an I-would-whoop-your-ass-if-you-looked-at-me-wrong way, which Liam supposes is normal for a man of his status.

Liam tries to hide his smile and nods. “It really would be, sir,” he says.

Richards hums to himself, nodding along and pursing his lips. “Might be dangerous.”

“Everything we do here is dangerous, sir.”

Richards laughs, full and gruff. “At least you’ve got no one waiting at home for you,” he says. “But we’d all mourn for ya, don’t you worry your pretty bachelor ass.”

Liam ducks his head and huffs a laugh softly. “Much appreciated, sir.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Richards says. He pats Liam on the shoulder once, and then breaks off to go his own way while Liam makes his way across the runway to his car.

There’s another car parked outside when Liam pulls up to his little two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Lancaster. He stops beside it, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel for a minute and collecting his thoughts. It’s the weekend, he doesn’t have to go back to base tomorrow, and he’s going to fly Mach 1 soon. It’s late but the sun is only almost below the horizon, flickering behind the sparse trees in the empty lots across the street. He rouses himself when he sees movement in his front window and gets out of the car, strides up to the house, and goes in.

His house is warm and lit in yellow light, soft jazz playing from the radio in the front room. “I’m home,” Liam calls out, and toes off his shoes.

His boy - well, not really a boy, is he, he’s almost two years older than Liam - pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway, pushes his browline glasses up the bridge of his nose, and grins. “I’ve got a roast in the oven,” he says, “come on in.”

“You’re a doll,” Liam drawls, and Louis grins even wider before disappearing behind the doorframe again. 

Liam follows. “Smells great,” he says as he walks into the kitchen. Louis’ back is turned as he waves a dishtowel around over the stove.

“Thanks, babe,” he says without looking. Liam crosses to the refrigerator and gets out a beer, taking the moment to sweep his eyes down Louis’ body. Louis’ taken off his shoes and cuffed his pants above his ankles, and his button-down is rolled up above his elbows. His braces hang around his thighs instead of over his shoulders, and he hasn’t got a tie on, but Liam guesses it’s in the backseat of his car, where he threw it after he got off work, as always. It’s a wonder he hasn’t thrown one out the window on accident. 

Liam walks up behind Louis and rests one hand on his hip, hooking his chin over Louis’ shoulder. 

“Oh, thanks,” Louis says, plucking the beer can out of Liam’s hand and taking a drink. He looks at Liam out of the corner of one supremely smug eye. When he puts his hand with the beer down on the counter, Liam leans in and kisses his cheek swiftly before taking the beer back and stepping away. 

Louis makes a noise of protest. “You could get me one,” he says.

“Didn’t know I had a roast here,” Liam says as he turns to get Louis his beer. 

“You didn’t,” Louis says. “I went and got one.”

“Yeah?” Liam looks at him with one raised eyebrow. “You didn’t have to.” But he’s very glad that Louis did. He should probably go grocery shopping tomorrow, he thinks as he sets both beers down on the counter. Or Sunday, when Louis’ gone and not distracting him by coming up close and hugging him properly, up on his toes slightly and with his arms hooked around Liam’s neck. 

“Anything exciting happen at the bank today?” Liam asks. 

Louis laughs, his breath a little puff of air against Liam’s lips. “Nope,” he says. “Same old, same old. We closed early, though. Too damn hot out.”

Liam hums sympathetically. He’s got one thumb hooked under the waistband of Louis’ pants and it’s warm and still sweaty. “You shouldn’t’ve stood in front of the oven when you got here, then.”

“Wanted to,” is all Louis says, and then he rises up a little more on his toes and kisses Liam.

Liam fully realizes the extent to which his relationship with Louis is un-Air-Force-approved, which is why he takes a little extra step backwards against the counter and away from view of the doorway when Louis kisses him. It’s also why he lives out on the edge of town, with no neighbors around, and why he likes to leave town on the weekends whenever he can, spending them in Louis’ Los Angeles apartment instead. He’d only had to stay later than usual today because of the X-1 flight coming up. Liam brings his other hand up to cup Louis’ cheek. Louis is warm and solid and alive against his chest, and Liam misses him every day he’s not around.

“Busy day at the base?” Louis asks, leaning away just slightly and playing with the short hairs at the back of Liam’s neck with his fingers.

Liam shrugs, and moves his hands to clasp at the small of Louis’ back. He’s smaller than Liam and Liam likes it a lot. “Nothing too big.”

“So modest,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

Liam smirks. “Don’t let the food burn.”

“Shit, is it - ” Louis lets go of Liam and turns around, grabs a dishtowel and opens the oven door. “Bastard. It’s fine.” Liam just grins to himself and picks up his beer again. 

They eat at the little breakfast table in Liam’s kitchen, because the dining room table he’d bought on sale is much too big for just two of them, anyway. Louis produces a bottle of red wine from somewhere and they finish it off smushed up cozily next to each other in Liam’s bed. Louis spills his on the rug accidentally. Liam’s too drunk to care.

The next morning Liam gets up and gets as far as his first cup of coffee before Louis comes out to find him and drag him back to bed.

“Lou, it’s late,” Liam protests.

“It’s not like we’re going anywhere,” Louis says, before he shuts Liam up with his mouth.

Louis does eventually get up with Liam, but only because Liam promises to make sandwiches. Louis sits on the counter in his boxers and squints at the newspaper.

“It’d be easier to read if you had your glasses,” Liam mutters.

Louis ignores him. “Marshall wants to send aid to Europe,” he says, the paper inches away from his face. “Help rebuild some of the destruction, and stuff.”

“Good for him,” Liam says. He gets a bit of mayonnaise on his finger and wipes it on his undershirt. 

“Good for us,” Louis says. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he can’t see beyond the newspaper, so Liam leans down to pinch his calf. Louis kicks out at him immediately. 

“Do you believe in aliens?” Louis asks, apropos of nothing. He puts the newspaper down on his lap. 

“Um?”

“Like, other creatures, out in space. Flying around.”

Liam leans his hip against the counter and takes a bite of his sandwich while he thinks. “I guess I wouldn’t say no,” he says slowly, “but I don’t know why I’d say yes, either. I guess it would be ace, wouldn’t it? Especially if they could really fly in space." When he looks up, Louis’ staring at him with this steady, fond expression on his face.

“It would be ace,” Louis says, still smiling at him, before he picks up the newspaper again.

Liam wakes up alone on Sunday morning, the sheets rumpled around his hips and the indent in the mattress where Louis had been cold when he runs his hand down it. Liam rubs his eyes with his fists. It’s bright daylight out even though it can’t be that late, and if Louis’ been gone this long already, he probably isn’t coming back to bed soon. Liam will have to go to him. Liam’s pajama pants and t-shirt are on the floor next to his bed, and he pulls them on before stepping out of the bedroom. 

Louis is in one of Liam's lawn chairs on the back porch, barefoot and in his shorts and undershirt, one of Liam's cardigans pulled around his shoulders. His yellow coffee mug is in his hands and his knees are pulled up to his chest on the chair. He glances up when Liam steps out and gives him a small smile.

“Hi,” Liam says softly, running his hand through Louis’ hair. 

Louis leans into the touch immediately. “Hi,” he says back. 

“You okay?”

Louis frees one hand from his coffee mug and pulls Liam’s hand off his head to lace their fingers together. “Yeah.”

“Nightmare?”

“Mm."

Liam doesn’t always know what to make of Louis’ nightmares, or what to do with him after. He’d thought being a fellow veteran would make it easy to understand. It isn’t. They’d had entirely different careers during the war: Liam had enlisted in the Air Force as soon as he turned eighteen, but Louis had been drafted to the Army when his number came up in the lottery. Where Liam had been in England flying fighter jets, Louis had been in the woods in France. Perhaps it isn’t so strange that Liam doesn’t know how to help Louis when he has nightmares, but he wishes he could.

“Really, Liam,” Louis says, when Liam stays silent for too long. “I’m fine.” He squeezes Liam’s fingers. “Could use some more coffee, though.”

Liam snorts, unimpressed, but he leans down to press a wet kiss high on Louis’ cheek when he takes his coffee mug from him. 

Louis leaves late on Sunday night, but only after he kisses Liam over and over behind the front door. "You're coming down next weekend, yeah?" he asks as Liam holds his car door open for him. 

"Yeah. I'll call you."

"Okay." Louis glances over his shoulder at the surroundings, but it's too dark to see anything anyway. He turns back to Liam. 

"I love you," he says quietly, and smiles.

Liam is glad it's dark out so Louis can't see the red flush on his face. It’s really embarrassing how gone he is for Louis after almost two years. "I love you too," he says, just as quietly. Louis beams, taps two fingers on the top of Liam's hand, and turns on his car. Liam watches him back down the drive and til he's around the corner at the end of the street.

Monday and Tuesday pass fairly quietly at the base, too hot to want to go running around outside and too near the X-1 flight to get excited about anything else. The day of the X-1 flight is that Wednesday. Liam thinks it was probably because someone thought that it was best to not keep him waiting. He gets to base early that morning and watches them drive the plane out to the runway. It's garish orange, fitting for the fastest plane in the world, really, and sharply pointed at the nose. It won’t take off by itself; they’re steering it under a B29 and hooking it up to its bomb carriages. There are engineers running around and around, pulling on cables and opening and closing panels and fueling up. Liam feels a bit like he’s in a dream, like this isn’t really happening and he isn’t about to risk his life to be dropped from a bomber. He closes his eyes briefly.

"Nervous?" someone says at Liam's side. It's Niall, another test pilot at the base, smiling and staring at him through his aviator sunglasses.

"Never, Nialler," Liam laughs. 

Niall grins, takes off his baseball cap, runs a hand backwards through his intensely blonde hair, and then replaces the cap. "Faster than sound," he says, and whistles. "Damn.” He grins up at Liam. “I’d be nervous."

“I suppose you would,” Liam says, deadpan.

Niall looks offended. “I’ll have you know - "

“Now, boys,” General Richards chides, striding over. “You need to suit up, Payne.”

Liam’s in his khakis and a button-up, but it’s easy enough to slip into his flight pants and jacket over them, and then his parachute over those. The boots are his favorite part of the outfit, but he doesn’t tell anyone that.

“Let’s get a picture next to the Bell,” someone says, so Liam makes his way over and turns and grins at the camera pointed at him. He squints in the sunlight, and they take one of just him before General Richards comes over and gets in one. The camera clicks - someone starts up a cheer - and then Zayn, the pilot of the B29, comes over to shake his hand. 

“You trust me, right?” Zayn says. He’s got a grin on his face, but Liam knows him, and knows that Zayn is constantly worried about things going wrong. He doesn’t know why. Zayn’s a great pilot.

“Completely,” Liam says, grinning back. Zayn turns to climb up into the B29. 

It’s a bit of a process for Liam to get into the X-1 once it’s hooked up to the mothership. He has to climb in through the B29, get on a ladder and stand up straight and flat against it while it gets lowered slowly into the cockpit of the X-1. Once he’s in, there’s nowhere to go, unless he wants to end up on the wing. He has to reach up and close the hatch with a lever by himself, and then he’s closed in for the rest of the flight. He gets his helmet on and rests his hand on the flight stick, breathing in once, out once. He flips the switches he needs to switch, running through the procedure again and again in his head.

Through the windshield Liam can see a few mechanics take off running across the runway, and then the whole plane begins to rumble; the earth feels like it’s shaking, there’s voices in Liam’s headset. He hears Zayn’s voice clearest.

“Ready, Payne?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Liam says. There’s laughter on the line.

“Mothership ready to take off,” Zayn says to the ground control. The rumbling and shaking increases as Zayn starts to move the plane, and then it smooths out as they head down the runway. There’s more radio chatter that Liam doesn’t really process. Zayn increases speed, tilts the nose up, and then, before Liam’s ready, really, they’re up in the air, above the California desert. Liam’s heart is beating so hard he wonders if they can hear it over the headsets. 

The flight to reach altitude seems to go on forever and for not long enough at the same time. They soar for a bit - just enough to get up to enough speed for Liam, and then Zayn’s voice comes through Liam’s headset again. “Tell me when you’re ready to drop,” he says.

Liam grips the flight stick tighter. “Systems are go.”

There’s a pause. “Dropping in three,” Zayn says. “Three. Two. Dropping.”

Liam drops.

There is, in fact, no way for Liam to ever get used to the feeling of flying. He doesn’t think anyone ever does. There’s that first rush when you’re on the runway, pressed too close to the back of your seat to feel anything else, and there’s the wonderful weightless feeling when you even out at cruising altitude. But when you drop - jesus. Your heart does a little jump in your chest and it’s terrifying, just for one ridiculously long moment. Liam does a flip in mid-air as his plane falls, because he can, and then he activates the first mortar to get himself out ahead of the bomber, pulls up on the flight stick, and takes off. 

He’s takes his time, as much as he can; he's left himself plenty of space to reach speed. His speedometer only goes to Mach 1, and he’s determined to make it just there. The first guy they wanted to fly the X-1 wanted fifteen thousand dollars for it, Liam remembers hearing, and he wonders now, on the edge of it all, if he shouldn’t have maybe asked for _something_. Too late now, in any case. Everything is blue and bright out, the perks of a windy Indian summer, but Liam can’t really appreciate that at the moment. He just keeps pressing the throttle forward inch by inch, flying in a huge, shallow curve, watching his dials and seeing the needles move steadily around the circles. He pulls up with the flight stick just a little more, just there to almost forty-five-thousand feet, just enough. He’s so close, he’s already going faster than he ever thought he might - the pressure is pushing him against the back of his seat and his fingers are going stiff with gripping the flight stick. 

Then suddenly, like it wasn’t prepared for it, the needle on his meter jumps to just a bit above the Mach 1 mark.

Liam stares at it.

“Malik,” he says quietly after a pause, “I think my meter’s gone screwy.”

There’s another pause, and a crackle of static. “And?” Zayn says. “Did you do it yet?”

Liam can’t quite close his mouth. He blinks at the dial again rapidly. “I - I think I did.” 

“Come on, then!” Zayn yells, laughing. 

Liam grins, turns the flight stick down just a bit, lets up on the throttle, and brings the plane back home.

All he gets is one little parade down the runway, standing up in the cockpit while they wheel the plane back into the hangar. Apparently, the details about the X-1 are too secret for Liam to get any recognition outside the base, but he thinks he hears someone pop a champagne bottle. He can’t stop smiling.

Niall comes running over from the group of men standing about in the doorway of the hangar. He grasps Liam’s hand in his, even though he has to reach above his head to grab Liam where he’s still standing in the cockpit. “Did you hear the boom?” he yells.

Liam furrows his eyebrows, confused. “The what?”

“The boom, Liam!” Niall yells again, frantic. “We thought you died!”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“Obviously!” 

Zayn comes running over, still in his own flight gear. “He was going faster than sound, wasn’t he?” he says, hitting Niall upside the head not-very-hard. “He’s not going to hear anything.”

“Was there really a boom?” Liam asks. He’s leaning down to hear them and it’s getting a little uncomfortable. He’d like to take his parachute off, at least. But Niall and Zayn get distracted when someone starts handing around the champagne - just in the bottle, for everyone to take a swig, and then everyone on the base wants to shake Liam’s hand. He climbs down from the jet eventually and undresses slowly, getting the account from the ground, including the boom, in snatches from excited pilots.

"We thought you'd exploded," one of the engineers says. "Poor plane couldn't handle it, or something."

Liam nods along and wonders what would have happened if he had exploded.

“Come out with us,” Zayn says, a few hours later, grasping Liam’s elbow.

Niall appears at Liam’s other elbow. “I wanna buy the fastest pilot in the world a drink,” he says.

There’s a bar at a dude ranch called the Rancho Riding Club near the base that most of the pilots frequent. The owner, Pancho, knows them all by name. Liam is there most days, Monday through Thursday, with his friends; he’s gotten out of going on Fridays because he's told most everyone on the base that he has family in Los Angeles that he visits on the weekends. Zayn and Niall have bought it so far - though possibly in the hopes that he will actually bring a girl back with him one day. They’re good friends, and both veterans. Sometimes they and their wives invite him to dinner at one of their houses, but neither of them have been to Liam's house. Liam is glad he flies with them every day, but then, he’s really just glad he flies every day. He tells them this on his third drink, and they laugh at him, and buy him one more. 

“What’s next then?” Niall asks, sitting down with a fresh round from the bar. “Setting records left and right, there’s gotta be something new.”

Liam’s about to say  _Louis tells me that too_ , and catches himself. “Dunno,” he says, running a finger through the condensation left on the table from his beer. “Highest flight, maybe?”

Zayn nods. “That would be ace. Don’t know what kind of craft you’d need for that, though, might be tough.”

Niall shrugs. “You said that when they wanted to build the Bell last year.”

“How high up would it still be flight, even?” Liam asks. “I mean. It stops being the atmosphere at some point, doesn’t it?”

Niall runs his hand through his hair. “Why?” he asks. “You think we’re gonna go to space?”

“Nah,” Liam says. He takes a drink. “Not in my lifetime."

Liam goes home that night still slightly drunk, and definitely still high on the rush of the whole thing. He wanders around his house; he picks up his laundry; and then he sits in his bedroom and calls Louis.

“I did it,” is the first thing he says when Louis answers. “Louis, I fucking did it.” He falls back on his bed.

Louis laughs loud and unabashed. “I knew you could!” he yells.

Liam can’t stop the stupid grin that’s been plastered on his face all afternoon. “Were you nervous?”

“Like hell,” Louis says. He makes a little regretful noise. “Wish I could’ve seen it.” 

“There’s photos,” Liam says. “You can’t tell anyone, though.”

“Loose lips sink ships,” Louis says, rote, from all those posters during the war.

“Mmhmm,” Liam agrees. “You can’t even - god, Louis, you can’t even imagine what it’s like.”

“I’ve had enough of flying, thanks,” says Louis.

So he probably has. But still, “It’s amazing,” Liam says.

“I’m sure,” Louis answers, lightly. 

“Supersonic,” Liam says, testing out the new word. “Imagine."

“Yes, dear."

“Anyway.” Liam tries to get up and stumbles over the phone cord. “How was your day?”

Louis just laughs. "Call your mother," he says. 

"She doesn't know," Liam says. He frowns a little and plays with a loose thread on his blanket.

"Call her anyway," Louis says softly. "And call me later."

Liam blinks back a few stray tears that have made their way up without his permission. "Okay," he says. "Okay, yeah."

"Love you," Louis says, and he hangs up. 

It takes Liam a long time to get around to calling home. He drinks several glasses of water and eats a piece of toast, just to make sure he gets sober. He finds a pair of socks he'd been missing under the bed. He stares at the phone for a long, long time. Then he takes a big breath and dials the number he's had memorized since he was a kid.

"Hello?"

"Hi, mom."

Karen gasps sharply. "Liam," she says, a little choked. "Liam, darling, how are you?"

Liam bites his lip. "I'm fine, mom. Just doing my thing down here."

Liam's mom never liked that Liam continued with the Air Force. She thought he was going to come home for good when the war was over, settle down with a girl near them in Hamilton, and have lots of babies. Instead he lives across the country and he's still a bachelor.

It makes phone calls awkward.

"You haven't been doing anything dangerous, have you, dear?" Karen asks.

Liam smiles a little. "Only every day," he says. When Karen makes a small distressed noise, he continues, “But I always get home safe. I'm okay, mom."

Karen doesn't speak for a moment. "Your sisters miss you," she says after a bit.

"I miss them too."

"And your father."

Liam has to squeeze his eyes shut. "I know."

"Yes, well."

It's silent on the phone line. Liam wishes to God it wasn't like this. He loves his family. It really shouldn't be so terrible to call home once in a while - but the years of distance and the secrets and the whole _World War_ have just made it hard to connect with them. He wouldn't even know how to make conversation with one of his sisters now, he thinks. He doesn't know what he could _tell_ them.

"I love you," Liam says after a while. 

Karen sniffles. "I love you too, Liam," she manages.

"I've gotta go."

"Okay, yes."

"Bye."

Liam hangs up and feels just a little emptier. He stares at his bedroom wall for a long time before picking up the phone again and calling Louis.

"Everything is going to be okay, Liam," Louis tells him. Liam closes his eyes and tries to remember that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it is i, the updater of fics a year late, bringing you more sort-of-historically-accurate secret boyfriends and planes. YAY
> 
> harry actually appears in this chapter! wow amaze
> 
> also the usual disclaimers: i know nothing, i am nothing, if you are in any way related to anyone in this fic TURN AROUND

**Los Angeles, California, December 4, 1953.**

           

Liam pulls up in front of Louis's apartment building – yellow, with green trim, which Louis complains about constantly – about 9 o'clock on Friday night, and the only light is a street lamp a few yards away. Louis buzzes him up, and he's standing in his doorway with his arms crossed, propping the door open with his hip, when Liam gets upstairs.         

“Hi there,” Louis says. He gives Liam an obvious once-over. “You looking for someone, big guy?”

Liam gives Louis a matching head-to-toe appraisal and smirks. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “This friend of mine – he's yea tall, kind of loud, a _terrible_ driver – ”

 Louis rolls his eyes and lets out a scoffing noise, turning around and going into the apartment without looking back to see if Liam is following. He is, of course. Louis' already closed all the blinds, but even once the door closes behind Liam the sounds from the street outside can still be heard in the living room. Liam goes through and drops his bag in the bedroom (only one, but Louis' neighbors never ask) and when he comes back out into the kitchen, Louis' got a beer for each of them and a bowl of something set out for Liam.

“Didn't feel like cooking,” he says, gesturing to the bowl. “Leftover soup from…a while ago.”

Liam pulls him close and kisses him. “Thanks, babe,” he says. “It looks great.”

“Don't say that 'til you try it,” Louis grumbles, and he makes a face. “I don't know how long it's all been in the icebox.”

“Well, if I die,” Liam says, taking his soup and his beer and going into the living room, “you get everything that the Air Force doesn't.”

“Comforting,” Louis growls. He goes across the living room and turns on the wireless, then comes back curls up next to Liam on the couch with his feet under him while Liam eats. He pokes Louis' feet. “Hey,” he says, after a while.

Liam takes the last bite of his soup and raises his eyebrows at Louis.

“I'm really proud of you,” Louis says. “For – everything you do. At the base.” He's staring right in Liam's eyes as he says it and Liam feels warm all over. He can feel himself blushing as he says, “Thanks, Lou.”

Louis smiles up at him through his eyelashes and leans over to kiss Liam's cheek. Liam feels so warm. “And you know,” Louis says, taking Liam's bowl and beer can from him and setting them on the coffee table, “I haven't seen you in a couple weeks.”

“No,” Liam murmurs back, “you haven't.”

Louis smiles, self-satisfied, and he shifts his weight so he can swing one leg over Liam's lap and settle there. “So it's probably about time I show some appreciation for my boy, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” Liam hums in agreement. His hands have settled on the curve of Louis' hips, right where the waistband of his jeans sits. His fingers nearly meet each other at Louis' spine. “It's very important to tell the men of the Armed Forces that you appreciate them.”

Louis grins, catlike, and leans forward. “Did anyone else ever tell you like this?”

(The answer, as it happens, is yes, when Liam first came home and met a girl who had a uniform fetish from a local bar, but he knows better than to say _anything_ like that to Louis, so he shakes his head and tightens his grip on Louis' waist.)

“Too bad,” Louis says, low and sultry, and he kisses Liam.

The kiss starts off innocent enough – if Louis straddling Liam can really be innocent – but Louis was right, they haven't seen each other in a while, and it turns into something hotter and heavier and much more intense very quickly. Louis' rolling his hips down in little helpless movements before long. He breaks off from Liam's mouth to pant against his cheek. “Bed?” he asks, “please?”

Liam only kisses him again and hooks his arms around Louis' thighs, then stands up probably too quickly, because Louis has to scramble to hold on. He laughs. “Big strong army man,” he says, and he sticks his legs straight out as Liam carries him to the bedroom.

Louis' bed is so small that when Liam drops him on it, there's literally nowhere else for him to go but crawl on top of Louis. Louis laughs and his nose wrinkles up and he makes grabby hands for Liam's shoulders, pulling him up to kiss him.

Liam pauses on his way to carefully pull Louis' glasses off of his face and set them on the nightstand. Louis blinks a few times afterwards, adjusting, and squints.

“Now you have to come closer,” Louis says, pouting and pulling at Liam's shoulders. “I can't see you.”

Somehow they get tangled in Louis' sheets when they're trying to get their pants off and Louis ends up kicking them all the way to the end of the bed in retaliation, but then it's cold, so Liam has to sit up and pull them back over his shoulders before he falls on top of Louis again. “Why is it cold in here?” Liam asks. His feet get tangled with Louis', and Louis shrugs and wraps his arms around Liam's waist.

“Dunno,” Louis says, wiggling under him. “Does it matter? Can you fuck me now?”

“Good god,” Liam says, “do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “My mother doesn’t live here,” he says, and he pushes his dick up against Liam's hip.

Louis is gross. Liam is endeared. “I can't believe you,” he says, even as he leans down to cover Louis' mouth with his own and slides his hands down to get two handfuls of Louis' ass.

Louis grins and laughs into Liam's mouth.

Liam fucks Louis slowly, even though Louis winds his legs around Liam's waist and pulls him in to try to get him to go faster. Liam breathes into the space between Louis' shoulder and neck and he jerks Louis off until he whines high in his throat and comes on his own belly. Liam follows a second after, slightly embarrassed at the noise he makes but not enough to stop it happening. There's a moment where Louis' and Liam's breathing synchs up, their chests moving against each other, but then Louis pinches Liam's ear and giggles, and the rhythm gets thrown off. Liam's never thought they were very poetic.

 

Louis brings Liam coffee in bed the next morning before Liam is even fully awake. He climbs into bed with the mugs and barely avoids sloshing the coffee into the sheets as he tries to get comfortable. Louis' bed is small, but his duvet is huge and fluffy, and it takes him a while to get himself back under it and next to Liam, who immediately rolls himself over and slings an arm across Louis' hips.

“Watch it,” Louis says, “I'm not paying to clean the sheets if you make me spill coffee on them.”

“Throw 'em in the washing machine,” Liam says, reaching for his coffee mug. He scoots backwards to sit up against the headboard. Their hips press together under the covers and Louis bends his leg to hook their knees together.

“Do you think the washing machine is free?” Louis asks. “We city folk don’t have our own, you know.”

Liam sips his coffee, which barely has enough sugar in it even though Louis <i> _knows </i>_ he likes more. He honestly doesn’t know why he loves him, sometimes. “Then bring it to my place,” he says.

“Oh, right,” Louis says, digging his toes into Liam’s calf. “I’ll just shove all my bedding into the back of my car, shall I?”

“Exactly,” Liam says.

Louis snorts, and they drink their coffee in silence for a while, squinting as the sun comes in through the blinds.

“Think I might go for a run,” Liam says after a moment. It's probably still cool out, maybe not so crowded yet on a Saturday morning. Or if it is, he can run circles around the building.

“Alright,” Louis says, agreeably. “I'll have breakfast for you after.”

The sun outside is bright and almost hurts Liam's eyes when he first steps outside the apartment. There aren't many people out right now, like Liam had hoped, but Louis doesn't live around many businesses, either. Liam takes off at a slow run – he doesn't feel like stretching himself too far this morning, just enough to clear his head with the steady rhythm of his feet on the pavement. He passes by apartment buildings, houses, and a park that nearly always has children playing in it, all of them blurring in his mind as he makes his circuit around the neighborhood. He knows Louis' corner of Los Angeles nearly as well as Louis does, now, just off the side of downtown and nice enough that he doesn't worry about Louis driving in late at night. (Louis tells him he wouldn't need to worry anyway, because he's a grown man and he can take care of himself, but Liam _thinks_ – though he wouldn't know from past experience – that being in love with someone means worrying about their safety nearly always.)

By the time Liam makes it back to the apartment, it's still not warm outside, but it's warm enough in the sun that Liam's a bit covered in sweat. Louis buzzes him up, and the door is open a crack when Liam gets upstairs. He shuts it behind him before going into the kitchen. There's a plate of bacon on the counter and Louis' frying an egg in the skillet. He hasn't changed yet, though he did put on boxers sometime between Liam leaving and now. Too bad.

“Looks good, babe,” Liam says. He pours himself another cup of coffee and wipes his forehead on his sleeve. He takes a sip, and then walks up behind Louis and rests his chin on his shoulder.

“You smell,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose. He doesn't move to push Liam off of him, though.

The little soft bits of Louis' hips are always tempting and Liam pinches one of them with his left hand. “Are you eating?”

Louis shrugs. “Nah,” he says, “I'm not really hungry.”

"Did you eat last night?”

Louis's shoulders tense minutely under Liam's chin. “What?”

 “What's your icebox look like?”

“Made you soup last night, didn't I?”

“Louis.”

Louis turns off the burner under the skillet and slides Liam's egg out onto his plate. “Doesn't matter,” he says, shaking his head.

Liam leans back and pushes at Louis' shoulder to get him to turn around. “Louis,” he repeats, when Louis' facing him.

Louis crosses his arms in front of his chest like a child. “What?”

Liam rubs his thumb on Louis' hipbone. “How's your family doing?”

“Fine.” Louis darts his eyes away from Liam's.

Liam doesn't say anything for a long time. He and Louis have had this conversation before. “Better that they can eat than me,” Louis had said, his chin up and defiant, when Liam found out he'd been sending nearly everything except rent and gas money to his family.

“They've still got the youngest ones there,” Louis says, when Liam doesn't stop looking at him. “And Fizzy's getting married. I have to help them.”

“Your sisters work, though,” Liam says. “Let them help some.”

“They shouldn't have to,” Louis argues. “Lottie's got another kid on the way and Fizzy's gonna have her own family soon. I don't have a family at home,” he adds.

It stings, a little bit, and Liam knows it shows on his face.

"Not like that,” Louis says quickly. “I mean. Not someone I have to support.”

“You have yourself to support,” Liam reminds him. “That matters, Lou.”

“Are we really going to do this right now?” Louis groans. “I made you breakfast. Just eat it, please.”

“Not unless you're eating, too.”

Louis' face darkens. “Don't be stupid,” he says. “I'm not going to break.” He turns to step away from Liam, but Liam catches his wrist in his hand.

“Move in with me,” Liam says, and it isn't what he meant to say, he's not sure where it came from, but now that it's out there he doesn't think he can take it back.

The way Louis' face changes immediately into something deeply, vulnerably sad almost makes Liam's chest ache. Louis looks down at his hand. He flips it in Liam's loose grip so he's cradling Liam's palm in his.

“Oh, darling,” Louis says, so softly.

“I want to be with you all the time,” Liam says, the honesty of it startling himself. “Why won't you move in with me?”

Louis strokes the back of Liam's hand with the tips of his fingers, and his eyelashes flutter rapidly like he's blinking back tears. “I know," he says. "But I just couldn't." When he looks up at Liam, the smile on his face is so sad. “It would look weird, wouldn't it? Moving up to the desert for no reason except to live with another man?”

“Just as suspicious as a strange car at my house every other weekend.” Liam pauses. “And it's not really the desert. Exactly.”

Louis doesn't say anything, just looks at Liam for a long time. “It would be lovely,” he says eventually.

“I've got two bedrooms,” Liam says. “No one would have to know.”

“I'd have to get a job.”

 “Everyone at the bank loves you. They'd help you get a job.”

“The Air Force can't find out.”

“They won't find out.”

Louis laughs, breathy and wet, and he sniffs once. “Would you help me move my things?”

“Of course,” Liam says. “Would you really – ”

“I'm thinking about it,” Louis says. His smile doesn't look quite so sad now. Liam loves him so, so much.

“Come on and eat, Lou,” Liam says softly. He doesn't let go of Louis' hand as he moves to the refrigerator and looks inside. It's sparser than Liam's seen it before and it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. “Here,” he says, taking the egg carton out again. “I'll make you something.”

“Liam,” Louis says. It's barely more than a whisper. When Liam looks over at him, Louis goes up on his toes to kiss him. “Thanks,” he whispers, when he pulls away.

“Just trying to take care of my family,” Liam says.

 Louis looks a little pained, so Liam changes the subject: “Hey,” he says. “I'm going to break another record.” He wiggles his eyebrows for effect.

“Another one!” Louis says. His face goes carefully interested, which isn't exactly what Liam was going for, but it's better than sadness. “Haven't you had enough of those?”

“Nah,” Liam says. “Last year someone beat Mach 2, remember?” When Louis hums like he does (Liam doesn't believe him), he goes on. “We're trying to beat that. We've got a new plane for it an everything.”

“We?”

“Me and the boys at the base.”

The egg Liam's frying sizzles and pops as Louis raises his eyebrows skeptically. “All right then,” he says. “Guess I'll hear about it sooner than later.”

 “Sooner,” Liam assures him, but Louis shrugs and flips his egg in the skillet instead of replying.

“When's it happening?” he asks, once he's got his egg on a plate. “Do you want ketchup?”

“Yes please,” Liam says, “and next week.”

“Well,” Louis says, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee, “good luck.”

             

           

**Lancaster, California, December 14, 1953**

           

In hindsight – because Liam always has really, really great hindsight – he probably should have told Louis to come up to Lancaster this weekend. Liam would be gone most of the day on the flight, so Louis would be bored; and besides, they already knew that Mach 2 could be broken, and that they had the plane for it. Run-of-the-mill as far as test flights go, honestly. Louis stayed home for _plenty_ of those, including the first Speed of Sound one. _At the time_ last week it had seemed pointless.

Of course, that was before he lost control of his airplane and dropped for a full minute in the middle of his flight.

“You didn't _think_ , maybe, that I should know about it?” Louis screeches down the phone line. Liam winces and pulls the phone away from his ear. So maybe waiting two days to call Louis was also not his greatest plan. _Hindsight_.

“I didn't want to worry you,” Liam says.

“I read about it in goddamn LIFE magazine, you idiot!”

Oh – well, yes. That did happen. “But I'm safe!” Liam argues. “I landed it safely!”

“But you didn't think you might call me up afterwards and tell me, hey, babe, in case a reporter asks you, at one point I _dropped fifty thousand feet in the air_ during my flight! But I'm _fine_!”

Liam grabs the phone and carries it to the couch with him. “Okay, yes, I should have, but I didn't want to worry you,” he says again.

Louis huffs. “You didn't even call me the day it happened,” he says. “I wanted to know how it went. I wanted to know you were safe.”

“Lou – ” Liam starts, but Louis cuts him off.

“Didn’t you say that that’s what loving you is about? Wanting you to be safe?”

Liam bites his lip. “Yes, but – ”

“Some _reporter_ knows details about your life that I don't,” Louis says, “and I can't _stand_ that.” He sniffs quietly. “Even after _seven years_.”

“I'm sorry,” Liam says, quietly.

“Whatever,” Louis says, much softer.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. Louis lets out a long breath, and Liam mirrors it.

“You know,” Liam says, the phone base dangling between his knees, “you could still move in with me. Then you'd know everything.”

There’s another pause, and then to Liam’s surprise, Louis starts laughing.

“What?” Liam twists the phone cord in his fingers. “Why are you laughing?”

“I _am_ moving in with you, Liam,” Louis says. “Oh, god. I was gonna tell you at Christmas. I gave my notice after you were here last week.”

The phone isn't crossing the distance between them _nearly_ enough. Liam nearly jumps off his couch in surprise. “You're what!” is all he manages to say.

“Sorry?” Louis says. “I just. I liked the idea.”

“No! Yes! I mean – I do too!” Liam stands up and starts cleaning up his clutter, as though Louis is coming over _right now_. Whatever. It's been seven years. He's excited. He's got to make the house look _good,_ god -

“Liam!” Louis says, startling him. He laughs again. “I'll see you next week, right? Can we talk about it then?” He hums. “You promised to help me move.”

“I did!” Liam agrees. “I will!”

Louis hums agreeably. “Then you can't break any new records before then!” he says. “Or ever, how about?”

“Can't promise _ever_ ,” Liam says, “but I'll hold off for this month.”

Louis _humphs_. “Good enough, I guess.”

“Really,” Liam says. “I promise I'll stay safe. And if I'm not,” he adds, after a second's pause, “I'll tell you about it before any reporters do.”

“I hate reporters,” Louis says.

 

Louis doesn’t even end up waiting until after Christmas now that Liam knows; he gives his notice at the bank, and they send him off with a letter of recommendation on the day before Christmas Eve. Liam comes down the next day and between their cars they get all of Louis’ stuff out of his apartment and back to Lancaster by 6 o’clock.

“Do you think this is what they mean by mid-life crisis?” Louis says. Then he wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, no, that sounds too old.”

Liam hip-checks him as he steps past to get another box out of the trunk. Louis left all his furniture down south. “You’re only just thirty,” he says.

Louis gasps. “I am _not_ ,” he says, scandalized. “I’ve decided I’m never turning thirty. Today never happened. I’m twenty-nine forever.” He picks up a box of his own and takes it towards the house.

“That won’t work forever!” Liam calls as he follows him. “It’ll get awkward in a few years, won’t it?”

“Shush,” Louis says. “It’ll work perfectly.” He puts his box down in Liam’s – their – bedroom, and looks around the room. “Well,” he says.

It’s nothing Louis’ never seen before, just has a few more boxes in it now. Liam nods and sets his box down. “Well?”

Louis scrubs at his eyes hastily and then turns to look at Liam. He’s smiling so broadly his eyes are wrinkling into little slits. “I really, really love you,” he says, and grabs Liam’s collar and kisses him stupid.

 

 

**New York University, New York, December 14, 1953.**

           

The clock in the back of the English lecture hall is permanently set on five o'clock, and the bells of Trinity Chapel are ringing three in the afternoon, but the growling of Harry's stomach is saying lunchtime. The wind whips his coat around his knees as he hurries across the quad, and his pulls it tighter around his chest. Harry should be inside somewhere, under his blanket, or better yet, back at home in Manchester with _more_ blankets and a cat curled up on his lap. But to get _there_ , he makes his way across the green and towards the street. His last final exam ended at two, and he's spent the last hour shoving as much as he can from his room into his shoulder bag. His train is at 3:30, and if he hurries he might even be able to buy a sandwich on his way.

Harry gets to his sandwich and his seat on the train with a minute to spare. He heaves his bag up onto the shelf above him, and then slides into the aisle seat with his lunch in a bag and settles in, glancing around him. Someone's left this week's LIFE magazine on the seat next to him.

Harry looks at the magazine, and then looks around him and down the aisle. The train whistle goes, and no one seems to be looking for their magazine. Harry picks it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hi on [tumblr!](http://tinymercilessking.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter two is slightly updated) 
> 
> listen m8 who KNOOOWS when this fic is getting finished so here's just some bits i wrote a while back. they aren't chronological to the first two chapters but eh
> 
> HAVE FUN, USUAL DISCLAIMERS APPLY

**Lancaster, California, April 9, 1959 – Project Mercury Press Conference**

The first time Louis sees Liam on the TV, his heart nearly jumps out of his chest. He’d been talking to Liam, of course, and he knew he had gotten picked for the program, but for some reason he hadn’t really processed that _yes_ , Liam was _actually_ doing this. That he was in Virginia, and not just up the road at the base for a long shift, and he was going to go up into space in a rocket. 

He has to grab onto the back of a chair and breathe deeply for a while after the first press conference is over. It's nighttime in early April, the living room of their house dark and warm except for the glow of the television and silent but for Howard K. Smith reading off his news report on the screen. The news is probably important, but Louis stares at the TV without really seeing it, too caught up in the sort of panic he hadn’t felt since Liam almost killed himself trying to beat Mach 2 six years ago.

It’s not that Liam’s an idiot; he’s brave. Louis supposes that’s partly why he loves him so much, because he’s never been quite as brave as him. But it makes it so, so hard sometimes. They’ll never be “safe;” Louis isn’t dumb, and he knows this. Maybe he’d just been playacting, living in Liam’s house and waiting for Liam to come home every night and expecting it to be able to go on. Liam’s job is dangerous and daredevil by definition. Louis likes an adventure as much as anyone, appreciates the thrill of doing something just a little dangerous and stupid and bad, but he wants to know he can go home afterward, and sometimes he just wishes – 

Louis doesn’t know what he wishes. Sometimes he just wants Liam to come home so he can curl himself around him in their bed for a whole weekend. Other times he wants to go back to Los Angeles; other times he wants to go somewhere completely new, Phoenix or San Francisco or somewhere not even in America.

Mostly he just wants to phone Liam up at the base and make him promise to come home safe. He looks at the phone. He could; it’ll be late on the east coast, but he could; Liam would wake up for him, would talk to him until he felt better, in his soft and slow and brave voice, and not tell Louis that he’s being stupid or irrational or afraid for no reason. Louis wants to so bad it almost hurts in his chest, this low aching just above his sternum.

He doesn’t, though. He watches Howard K. Smith without hearing what he’s saying and he doesn’t look at the phone again and he goes to bed in his and Liam’s bedroom and he tries, so hard, to be brave for Liam.

  
**New York City, New York, June 1959**.

The LIFE magazine offices are bright and clean. It's what drew Harry there, really - everywhere else he'd visited or interned at was old and musty and stifling to the creative mind. He'd visited LIFE and felt like there was something real and alive there, something that he'd like to be a part of. That’s why he got into journalism - he likes telling stories of real people, and real places, and thing that matter, things that make a difference.

Of course, Harry's own desk is nowhere near a window, and is actually pretty cramped up next to his fellow reporters' desks, but still. It's his own desk, and he's proud of it. Got it right out of college, didn't he? And it's right in the middle of downtown.

The editor's office, where he's now standing, is floor-to-ceiling windows, it seems, they're so huge - and the editor's desk is right in the middle of it, huge and imposing. Harry grips his notepad tighter in front of him.

"Doesn't it seem like we should be getting something on Payne's home life?" he says.

His boss, Nick, tall and lanky and far too laid-back to be the editor of LIFE, probably, sighs. His feet are stretched out in front of him, propped up on the desk and crossed at the ankles. "Look, Henry - "

"Harry."

"Harry. It isn't so much that I don't think you're not a great reporter. I'm just not sure if this is really a useful project."

Harry wrinkles his nose and pushes his unruly hair out of his face in frustration. "But why not? You haven't got anything for me right now. And you haven't got the same kind of scoop on Payne that you do for the other five. And we probably wouldn't have to pay him the same – we're not looking for a whole issue, or rights for years, right? Just wanna find out what he's like."

Nick takes off his thick-rimmed glasses and rubs at the lenses with the edge of his untucked shirt. "Remind me again who you're going to talk to?"

Harry flips to the first page of his yellow legal pad. "His name is Louis Tomlinson, he's thirty-five, and he's been Liam Payne's roommate for a while," he reads.

"Another pilot?"

"No..." Harry scans his notes again. "He served in the war, but he's just a friend, it looks like, happens to live in Lancaster."

Nick nods, considering, and adjusts his glasses. "And you think he'd talk to you?"

Harry shrugs. "I gotta try, right?"

Nick purses his lips, but it looks like Harry's won him over. "How did you get this job?"

"Hard work and my charming good looks," Harry says, grinning. 

Nick laughs and shakes his head. "Right," he says. He pauses and doesn't say anything for a moment. Harry stands there, not sure where to go from here - "Go on, then," Nick says, flapping a hand at him. "Get out to Lancaster, wherever that is."

Harry grins. He gives Nick a half-hearted salute and spins on his heel, and heads out of the office. 

"And don't come back without something good!" Nick shouts after him. "Your charms won't work on me, Styles!"

 

**Lancaster, California, a week later.**

When Harry pulls up to the address he's got in his file, his cheap rental car bouncing a bit on the unpaved roads, the first thing he notices about the house is that it's cute. It’s really, really cute, and doesn’t seem like the kind of place that a bachelor Air Force pilot would be living in. It looks like some of the houses from his hometown of Manchester, built back in the 30s, before the war. There’s a garage to one side, but there's one car parked out in front of it. The shingled roof is missing a few pieces and the sideboards are a little worn out, but otherwise it looks like it's been well-taken-care-of, even in the desert climate. 

Which, speaking of the climate, Harry thinks he's about to die if he doesn't get a drink. It got hot in New York, sure, but that was a muggy heat. This California heat is dry and dusty and inescapable. Hopefully - if he does want to talk to him - this Louis will have an icebox. Harry puts his car in park and gets out.

There's no bell, so he knocks briskly a few times on the wooden door, trying not to look too closely through the window in the center of the door. He'd come on a Saturday in the hopes that he would catch Louis at home, and the car seems to suggest that someone is here, but still, it's a few long moments before Harry hears a soft "coming," from inside.

A man with light brown hair and glasses opens the door. He's a few inches shorter than Harry and his feet are bare, and he's in khaki shorts and a white undershirt. Harry shifts uncomfortably in his long pants and button-down and feels a bit overdressed. 

"Um, hi," Harry says, eloquently. "I'm - are you Louis Tomlinson?" He pronounces it _Lewis_.

 "It's Lou-ee," the man corrects gently, "but yes. And you're...."

“Oh, sorry, yeah, my name's Harry. Styles. I'm from LIFE magazine."

Louis raises an eyebrow at him and shifts his weight on his feet. "Are you now."

"Yeah," Harry says. He clears his throat. "You might have heard that we're doing pieces on all of the Mercury Six's families and lives at home - but Liam Payne doesn't have a wife or family. I was told that you're his roommate."

"Was, at least," Louis says, "before he went off to Virginia."

"Sure," Harry says. "But I was wondering - if you'd be up for it, if you think he'd be okay with it - if I could get an interview with you? Even though he hasn't got a family as such, you could tell us a bit of what Commander Payne is like at home."

Louis is still standing with one arm braced against the door and one against the doorframe, and his grip tightens a bit as Harry talks. His eyes narrow, too, behind his lenses. 

"LIFE would be willing to compensate you for it," Harry says, trying to smile disarmingly. "Not as much as the other families, but we do value your time and we want to give the readers an accurate picture of the men they're sending to outer space - "

"I'll think about it," Louis says, interrupting. "That okay?"

"Oh!" Harry jolts, startled. "Yeah, sure."

Louis nods at him once. "You got a phone number? Where are you staying?"

Harry blinks at him. He hadn't thought about phone numbers. Louis is catching him unprepared. "Um, I'm," he says, searching his pockets for something that might be useful. He feels silly and young and out of his depth and he hasn’t even really said anything, god.

Louis laughs a little, but not unkindly. "Where're you staying? The Saint James?"

Harry nods. 

“They're in the phone book. Harry Styles?"

"Yeah," Harry says, grateful. "Yeah, room 210." 

"Okay, Harry Styles in 210," Louis says. "I'll let you know."

"Okay, yeah, thanks," Harry says. Louis waves at him as he steps off the porch and closes the door.

Harry stares at the door for a second, sweat dripping its way slowly down into his collar at the back of his neck. He had sort of been expecting something more than that, though it may have been silly. He looks up at the gable above the porch, and its faded red trim seems to stare back at him with the same kind of apprehension he’d seen in Louis’ eyes. He looks back at the door. When it doesn’t give up any of its secrets, he undoes a couple more buttons on his shirt and makes his way back to his car. 

He has dinner at a drugstore down the street from the Saint James Hotel and wonders what he’s going to tell Nick if Louis doesn’t want to talk to him.

 

When Harry's gone, Louis stands in the entryway and stares at the door for a long few minutes. He's a little concerned that strangers, apparently, know where he's living - know where he had been living _with Liam_ , more importantly. He chews his thumbnail nervously, and then he goes into the kitchen, takes the phone from the wall, and dials Liam's number. He glances at the clock above the stove. Liam might be home, or he might be out. Louis isn't usually the one doing the calling.

Liam is home, though, and answers after a few rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Liam."

"Louis!" Liam says. "Hi, how are you? Is everything okay?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Louis says. He smiles, already feeling better.  "I'm fine, nothing's wrong."

"Okay," Liam says. "Then what's up?"

Louis chews on his thumbnail again. "You know how the other guys are letting those reporters do editorials in their homes?"

"Uh huh," Liam says, warily.

"A reporter came to the door today."

Liam is silent for a long moment. "Okay," he says. “What did he want?"

"He said he'd heard I was your roommate," Louis says. He pulls his thumb away from his mouth and sticks his hand under his arm instead. "But he wants to talk to me. Ask me what you're like at home, and all."

"Are you going to?"

"I told him I'd let him know."

Liam hums. 

"He said he'd compensate us."

"Did he look, you know, trustworthy?"

"He looked pretty young," says Louis. "Not suspicious, or anything." He thinks for a second. "Possibly not very bright."

Liam laughs. "I mean, you can if you want - if you don't mind your name in the magazine."

"I could tell him to use a different name in print."

"Was he going to take pictures?" Liam asks.

Louis hadn't considered that. "I don't know," he says. "He didn't have a camera, but he might later."

"Well, you can do what you think is best," Liam says. "Just, you know. Be careful. Don't tell him anything embarrassing." 

Louis laughs. "I'm going to tell him all the best embarrassing stories I can think of."

"Louuuu," Liam whines. 

Louis grins. "Okay, I won't. I am going to think about it, though."

"I trust you," Liam says. 

Louis bites his lip. "Thanks," he says. 

"I have to go," Liam says regretfully. "I wish I could go home."

Louis closes his eyes against the overwhelming wave of sadness what sweeps over him then and tugs at his chest. "I wish you could too," he says, softly.

"I - " Liam cuts himself off. "I trust you," he says.

It's not that they think the Air Force is monitoring their phone calls. They just have to be safe. 

"I trust you, too," Louis says. It sounds dumb, but it makes Liam huff out a soft sound.

"Bye," Liam says quietly.

"Bye," Louis says, even quieter. Liam hangs up. The air in the kitchen is stifling and hot. 

Louis hates weekends. He and Liam have never been apart for this long. Louis saw Liam almost every weekend even before he moved to Lancaster. But when those tests rolled around earlier this year and Liam was off being poked and prodded and tweaked, he hadn't come home for weeks at a time. And when he had come home, he'd had work to catch up on at the base, no matter Louis' best attempts to keep him home all day. And now Liam has been in Virginia for almost three long months, and Louis only hears his voice over the phone and sees his face in the papers.

NASA had almost not taken Liam because he didn't have a college degree. Louis wishes, selfishly and bitterly but not for the first time, that they hadn't. 

Louis eats dinner by himself, doesn't drink, and reads until he falls asleep. When he wakes up on Sunday, he drinks his coffee and squints at the paper for an hour before crossing to the phone book in the cabinet and dragging it down. He dials the number he finds for the Saint James Hotel and asks the chipper man at the front desk for room 210.

"'Lo?" Clearly Harry has just woken up, his voice rough with sleep and lower than Louis remembers. 

"Hi, Harry? It's Louis Tomlinson."

"Oh!" There's a loud thump and then a scrambling noise from Harry's end of the line. "Hi, hello, how are you?"

"I'm just fine," Louis says. "Wanted to ask you a few things about this interview."

"Uh huh," says Harry. “Sure, go ahead."

Louis bites his lower lip before he speaks. "How many interviews would it be?"

"Just the one, for now," Harry says. His voice is evening out to its normal pitch and he seems relaxed, like he's practiced this answer before. "Since Commander Payne doesn't currently live with you, I probably won't be coming back to find out the latest news, or anything. We just want to round out our articles."

"Would you use my real name?"

Harry pauses for a second before answering. “Er, well, no, not if you don't want me to."

"Will there be pictures?"

“We’d like some - of the house, maybe? But not if you don't want them."

Louis closes his eyes and leans his back against the wall. 

"It's really no big thing," Harry says, "We can figure out compensation and things later, or now, if you want - I thought I might go to the base, get some pictures there, make the article about his flight career, and all - "

Harry talks incredibly slowly. Louis isn't sure whether to blame it on the time, or what. "Sure," he says. "Then I think I could do it for you."

"Really!" Harry says. "Fantastic, thank you, that would be great. What's a good time for you?"

"Any time today," Louis says. "I'm home alone, now."

"Yeah, yeah," says Harry. "So maybe I can come over about twelve? Would that be okay?"

"Twelve sounds fine," Louis says. "I can even make you lunch."

"Oh - um, you don't have to, I mean - "

"It's no bother," Louis says. The kid probably doesn't have the money to go buying lunch anyway. He doesn't bother giving Harry his address, since he has it already, and rings off with a short goodbye.

Now he's got to clean the house. Goddammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if the timeline makes zero sense you can always find me @ trashbaglouis.tumblr.com


End file.
